


Where the Pavement is Cratered Beyond Repair

by messageredacted



Series: To be edgeless again [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne is a serial killer. Batman is fighting for justice. And the Joker stands between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Pavement is Cratered Beyond Repair

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on 14 January 2011.

_though for one kiss  
for one ecstatic hit  
you'd kneel on the tracks  
give that machine all the flesh for which it keeps singing  
each of your limbs uncoupling like a hip  
to release into the station's multiple faces  
nothing  
but a hot reek of sulphur to make the babies scream_  
—[“Letter to my lover's stalker”](http://www.indiefeedpp.libsyn.com/index.php?post_id=383507) by Marty McConnell

 

##

 

There's a woman in the train car talking to her child in sharp hissing syllables that Bruce can’t make out, but the meaning is clear, and the child nods, and Bruce nods too, mirroring him, and he thinks _child abuse, maybe she hits him, maybe she hurts him_ and then he thinks _no_.

It's too soon.

Three weeks ago was the banker who strangled his wife and so Bruce strangled him, left him pinned open like a high school dissection on top of a dumpster in the narrows. The police cars painted the sidewalks red and he and the Joker watched it from the building across the street, sitting on an overturned milk crate. Bruce watched them take the body out in a black bag on a stretcher.

The Joker warned him that this is what starts to happen if he cares too much. He’ll start to want it more often. The high of the last one wears off faster and he’ll start to get antsy, start to need the next one, as if he’s doing this for _pleasure_ and not _justice_ , as if this is something more than making Gotham take its medicine the way it has always refused. He is cleaning up the dirty streets of the junkies and the criminals. He is not like them.

So Bruce is on a train and the Joker is sitting across from him. The Joker still won’t tell Bruce his name and Bruce has never asked but it doesn’t matter. They’re in seats facing each other and the Joker has his foot propped up on the edge of the seat between Bruce’s knees. Bruce can see the worn leather of his shoes, the faded color of his socks. He clasps his hands over the Joker’s ankle and tips his head back against the seat as the train hums and the mother speaks to her son. The Joker’s eyes glitter at him from under the hat he’s wearing and if Bruce could see his mouth under his scarf he would be able to see the Joker’s smile.

Bruce still keeps the Joker’s tooth in his pocket.

 

##

 

Gordon leans back in his chair and scrubs his hands over his face. His eyes are threatening to close and there is a crick in his neck. His hair is uneven, standing up in tufts. He has been bent over these pages for far too long.

Three weeks ago, the Joker went missing. Gordon had left him in Batman’s care to keep him from becoming a victim of the serial killer. Since then he hasn’t seen either of them, which is strange. Could Batman be so involved in following the serial killer that he has neglected to make sure the Joker doesn’t break parole? Has something happened to the two of them? Has the serial killer gotten them both?

If it is the serial killer, they would have already found the bodies. The serial killer seems to take pride in having his victims be found. But as much as Batman hates the Joker, would he really force him to break parole to send him back to Arkham?

And not long after they disappeared there was the dead banker, so the serial killer is obviously still out there. Batman hasn’t caught him yet.

It simply doesn’t make sense, and what makes it worse is the unbelievably complicated paper trail that Gordon is attempting to untangle. Before his disappearance, Batman told him that he was going to find out who had released the Joker from Arkham early. Now Gordon is trying to pick up where Batman left off, but someone has made an effort to cover their tracks. Three weeks of paperwork and Gordon is so muddled that he can barely figure out which way is up.

Rubbing his neck, he looks up at the clock on the wall. Long past time to go home. Maybe things will look different in the morning.

 

##

 

His body is holding him hostage.

Batman wakes up with the morning light in his eyes. This is actually a pleasant surprise—sometimes he wakes up to far worse things. But this morning he sitting in the passenger’s seat of a car, his head resting against the window, a coffee in a paper takeout cup in his hands. The engine is running and the vents gust hot air across his face.

It's a cold spring. At least, Batman guesses it’s still spring. Time moves differently for him. It’s as if he is walking across stepping stones, touching down on one moment in time, then reaching out and feeling for the next. He can’t stay here, in control of his body, for more than a few minutes or hours at a time.

Someone walks across the parking lot in front of him and Batman focuses his eyes. It's the Joker, moving with his shoulders hunched, his face buried in a scarf as usual. Every time Batman wakes up, the Joker is there.

He frees one hand from the coffee cup and puts it on the door handle. He could get out and run. He could try to get as far away as possible before the Joker catches up to him, before he loses consciousness again and that _other one_ takes over. Or he could drive. He could contact Alfred and have him track Batman down.

He could call Gordon. That last one gives him pause. He doesn’t have his Batsuit any more—as far as he knows, the _other one_ burned it. If he calls Gordon, it will be the equivalent of turning himself in. But maybe that's something he needs to do.

The Joker opens the car door and slides in. His eyes dance over Batman’s face.

“Any sign of him yet?” he says.

Batman shakes his head to cover up the fact that he doesn’t know what the Joker is talking about. The Joker grins at him and reaches over, grabbing the coffee out of his hands. He takes a gulp of it.

“It’s been three weeks,” the Joker says. Batman stares at him. It’s almost as if the Joker can read his mind. Then the Joker’s gaze slides over to him and he continues, “One more week before the next target.”

“I know,” Batman says gruffly.

“Your hands are already shaking,” says the Joker, and hands the coffee back.

 

##

 

There was a time about a year ago when Batman first started noticing the gaps in his memory, like a missing tooth. It had probably been going on for longer than that, but this was the first time Batman actually noticed that there was a gap. He didn’t think about it too hard, though. He thought it was stress, just a failing memory. It wasn’t any more serious than that.

And there was the serial killer in the news, the one who was going after the criminals that the law couldn’t touch. The killer was good—too good, really. Batman couldn’t find anything on him. Really, that should have been enough of a clue, but Batman had just wanted some distraction from the constant reminders of Rachel’s death and his own terrible sleeping patterns and the futility of his endless fight against crime.

Had it been insulting that the serial killer was doing more for Gotham in a few months than Batman had done in his life? Yes, a little. More than a little. And worse that Batman couldn’t track him down. But exhilarating to track him none the less.

Then someone let the Joker out of prison, and by the time Batman realized that the ‘someone’ Batman was searching for was himself, it was too late. The _other one_ , the serial killer personality, had too firm of a grip on Batman. After that point, it became a series of snapshots, brief glimpses of reality taken days or weeks apart, and the Joker smiling in every one.

Now he needs to fight his way out of this. He needs to take control again. Some time when Bruce’s guard is down, Batman is going to fight him. And he’s going to win.

 

##

 

“I have your information.”

Gordon straightens, nearly tipping over backwards in his chair. “Great. Lay it on me.”

The woman on the other end of the line clears her throat and shuffles papers. Gordon waits. When he started this investigation, he used some of his best officers and threw his name around liberally, but that closed more doors than it opened. He’s relatively certain that he’s being followed. Someone is watching him. He has been making enemies that he can’t afford to make.

Now he’s had to change tactics. He’s been using a private investigator.

“Governor McKillin did sign the papers that qualified the Joker as a nonviolent offender and made him eligible for parole,” says the woman. “He used quite a few connections to make people look the other way, since I don’t know how he could convince anyone that the Joker was nonviolent. With the governor’s urging, the Parole Board gave the Joker an interview and ultimately decided to let him go. Look, I’ve listened to the recording of the interview. The Joker told them to go fuck themselves. The governor must have done a lot of convincing.”

“Why would he do that? If anyone found out, it wouldn’t go well for him politically,” Gordon says.

“Well, I’m sure you know how _easy_ it was to find this information,” the woman says wryly.

“It’s not even an election year.”

“No, but Governor McKillin has stated that he’s thinking of running for President, so I started looking into people who might contribute to his campaign. It turns out that there group called the Caughee Group that has recently shown some signs of throwing its weight behind McKillin when he does officially decide to run.”

“But who are they?” Gordon asks.

“It’s a super PAC—a political action committee. They can make unlimited donations to the candidates they choose. With their support, McKillin will win the election.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for the Joker,” Gordon mutters.

“Maybe your perp wanted access to more criminals in the future.”

“So who is in this Caughee Group? Anyone I know?”

“Probably. It’s mostly a lot of local corporations and rich individuals, but the heavyweight behind all of it is Wayne Enterprises.”

“Wayne Enterprises?” Gordon echoes, frowning down at the desktop. Bruce Wayne went on a sudden tour of the Caribbean three weeks ago, skipping out on a few appointments. It had made the gossip columns. Three weeks ago? That’s a coincidence, isn’t it? That’s the same time Batman and the Joker went missing.

“Email me the list of all the members,” Gordon says. “And thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

They hang up and Gordon spends a few minutes searching for the old gossip online, pinpointing the dates that Bruce Wayne disappeared. Finally, taking a breath, Gordon picks up the phone.

“Alfred Pennyworth? It’s Jim Gordon. I have a few questions for you.”

##

Bruce Wayne paces back and forth in front of the windows of the empty house, his fists clenched at his sides. When he reaches the end of the room he spins on his heel and retraces his steps.

“He’s fighting me,” he says, his teeth clenched.

The Joker reclines on the bed, his feet crossed on the coverlet. His shoes leave mud on the bed. When the homeowners arrive home from vacation, they’ll be upset. “That’s what Batman _does_ ,” he says.

Bruce turns to him. “He would stop us if he could,” he says. “He doesn’t understand the kind of justice we’re handing out.”

“Justice, of course,” says the Joker. He sits up in the bed and kicks off his shoes. “Batman didn’t know a thing about justice.” He’s grinning. He’s _laughing_.

Bruce feels a surge of anger but he squashes it down. “He didn’t,” he insists. “He let the criminals live when he was done with them, so that they could kill again. He got the police to look the other way for him. Those _enablers_. Those _crooked cops_.”

The other personality, Batman, is somewhere deep inside him, struggling to take over again. Bruce starts pacing again. God, how he hates the man and everyone else who helped him.

His hands are shaking. He looks toward the Joker on the bed, who is still grinning at him, watching him with his thighs sprawled open.

“Soon,” the Joker says. Bruce stalks toward him and crawls onto the bed. The Joker props himself up to meet him, his mouth latching on to Bruce’s like a lamprey. Bruce shoves the Joker back down onto the bed, climbing on top of him, and the Joker laughs.

“Soon,” Bruce echoes.

##

The room air is cool on Batman’s sweaty skin. He sits cross-legged on the rumpled sheets, looking down at the glossy photographs that are spread all over the bed.

The Joker is sprawled naked on the bed next to him with the newspaper. The television is droning in the background. Batman doesn’t want to look at him, but he can’t let the Joker know that he isn’t Bruce anymore.

Batman had woken up fucking the Joker, nothing between them but sweat. He can still remember the press of the Joker’s heels against his back when he came. He hasn’t had sex like that—savage, unrestrained—in some time. He doesn’t think he can meet the Joker’s eyes.

The Joker is his _enemy_.

The pictures on the bed are shots of different abandoned locations. Batman guesses that it’s the location for their next kill. He thumbs through them slowly, feigning absorption. He has to think of a way out of here, a way to find help. Turn himself in. He’s not thinking of keeping his secret identity intact anymore. If he can contact Gordon, he will gladly go to jail. He just needs this crime spree to stop.

The Joker stretches like a cat, all the way from his fingertips to his knobby toes. Batman catches himself looking and nearly drags his gaze away, then lets himself look. The Joker grins.

“Like what you see?” the Joker says, rolling up onto his knees. He leans over to Batman and grabs his face, kisses him hard. Only afterwards does Batman think to pull away. The Joker licks Batman’s lips and pulls back.

“I’ll be back,” he says. He gets off the bed and saunters to the bathroom. Batman stays where he is and attempts to ignore the warmth in his stomach.

As soon as the door shuts behind the Joker and water begins to run in the sink, Batman rolls over to the phone beside the table and lifts it gently from its cradle. The dial tone sounds loud in his ear. He has called Gordon enough times that he remembers the number. He climbs off the bed, going for the armchair by the window, as far from the bathroom as he can get. He turns the chair to face the window to give him time to hide the phone.

Gordon answers the phone on the fourth ring, when Batman is about to hang up. “Hello?”

“Gordon,” Batman growls as quietly as he can.

“Batman? Where the hell are you? I’ve been looking for you!”

“I need to meet you.” Batman thinks quickly, his eyes darting over the street sign that he can see out the window. “I’m in a house on the corner of Elm and Fifteenth, across from number seven eighty-two.” He runs the map of Gotham through his head. “It’s in the suburbs west of Gotham.”

“Do you have the Joker with you?”

“Yes, and listen to me. I’m—”

The dial tone rings in his ear. Batman straightens and spins around. The water is still running in the bathroom, but the door is open just a crack and the Joker is sitting on the bed, his finger on the cradle of the phone.

“Oops,” he says.

Batman puts the phone down and stares at him. “How did you know it was me and not _him_?” he says.

The Joker grins and leans forward. “I _always_ know it’s you, sugartits. I can tell you two apart in a second.”

Batman shakes his head in disbelief and the Joker’s smile widens. He rolls off the bed and prowls towards Batman. Batman stays where he is and lets the Joker touch his mouth to Bruce’s ear.

“Did it bother you to wake up while we were fucking?” he whispers.

Batman swallows. “When we’re arrested, I’m going to see that you never get out of Arkham again.”

“You think I let you invite Gordon here to arrest us?” the Joker asks, pulling back. He tousles Batman’s hair. “Sweetie, who do you think your next _victim_ is?”

 

##

 

Gordon parks his car on the curb a block from the address Batman had given him. He has no idea what sort of situation he’s entering here, and he has to be careful.

It’s been two hours since the phone call, but that was really the fastest that Gordon could get away. He can’t quite picture Batman and the Joker being in this cute little neighborhood, but there has been something wrong with this entire situation. Batman had sounded stressed on the phone, and the conversation had ended so abruptly. Has the Joker taken him prisoner?

He walks up the street, his hand going to brush against the gun in his holster. When he is halfway down the block the street corner, he stops. He can see the house that Batman had indicated. The blinds are all drawn and there is no car in the driveway.

He cuts through the backyard of the house next door and stops behind some bushes where he has a good view of the house. Still, no sign of anyone inside. He jogs to the side of the house and peers in a basement window, keeping low, then circles around to the back door. He listens.

No sound. He climbs the few steps to the door and holds the doorknob, still listening. The door is unlocked. He turns the knob and eases it open.

The door lets him in to a kitchen. Gordon shuts the door after himself and draws his gun. He edges around the island and peers into the living room. Still no one. There is a staircase leading to the second floor, but he ignores it in favor of checking through the entire first floor.

Something flutters on the wall of the living room. Gordon glances around, then steps closer. It’s a photograph. It’s Rachel Dawes.

 _Shit._

All of a sudden, things click together in his head. The feeling of being followed, of someone watching him. It wasn’t just because of his investigation into who released the Joker—it was because he was the serial killer’s next target. His hand shoots up to his head and he runs his fingers through his hair, finding the spot where someone has cut off a lock of it. Jesus, and he hadn’t even _noticed_ —

Gordon tugs his radio out of his belt and brings it to his lips. He listens carefully one more time, then turns on the radio. It squeals.

“This is—” he manages to get out.

Two prongs thunk into his shoulderblade and a searing bolt of electricity follows on their heels. Gordon hits the floor and drops everything he’s carrying. He flops like a fish out of water. Someone kicks him in the chest, flipping him onto his back. Gordon stares up into the face of Bruce Wayne.

“Commissioner,” he says politely.

Gordon sucks air into his lungs. “What is—what is going—”

Bruce looks down at him. Although Gordon has seen the man on the news and in the magazines before, the look in his eyes is completely foreign.

“You’re a corrupt cop, Commissioner,” he says. “You bent the law to let Batman do whatever he wanted, and because of that, Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent died. If you hadn’t enable Batman, this city would be a better place.”

Gordon shakes his head. “Batman—made Gotham— _better_ ,” he wheezes.

“No one is going to arrest you for what you’ve done. You’re untouchable,” Bruce Wayne continues as if Gordon hadn’t spoken. He draws a knife.

And then he freezes. Gordon stares up at him as a strange expression crosses Bruce’s face.

“Not now,” he hisses.

Gordon takes advantage of the distraction to force his trembling limbs into action, getting to his hands and knees and crawling towards his gun. Bruce takes half a step towards him and stops again like a puppet jerking up against its strings.

“Gordon,” Batman growls.

Gordon whips around to stare. For one fraction of a moment he expects to see Batman lurking in the shadows, but there’s no one there but himself and Bruce Wayne, and Bruce is looking at him with such desperation.

“Gordon, it’s me,” says Batman. “I’m Bruce Wayne. I’m the killer. You have to arrest me. You have to end this.”

“Batman?” Gordon whispers. He grabs his gun and then gets unsteadily to his feet. Bruce, or Batman, doesn’t move.

“Quickly,” Batman says. “If you wait too long—” He doesn’t finish.

Gordon grabs his handcuffs from his belt. He steps warily forward, his gun aimed at Batman. He tosses him the handcuffs. “Put these on.”

Batman hooks the cuffs around one wrist. As he starts to do the other wrist, something suddenly hits Gordon on the back of the head with incredible force, sending him sprawling on the floor again. His reactions are slowed but he manages to hang onto the gun. Someone latches onto Gordon’s back and hits him again. Gordon twists around to see the Joker holding a small fire extinguisher.

“These things will save your life,” the Joker says, laughing breathlessly. He slams the end of the fire extinguisher on Gordon’s wrist and Gordon lets go of the gun.

“No,” Batman says, his voice strangled. He’s hunched over, still with only one hand in the cuffs, as if he’s fighting some sort of internal battle. “Let him go.”

“As soon as you come to your senses, darling,” the Joker crows. He goes to hit Gordon again but Gordon manages to buck him off. Gordon gets up to his knees and snatches at his gun again. He looks at the Joker and sees the Joker grinning at something over Gordon’s shoulder. Gordon turns.

When the knife slams into Gordon’s chest, it makes a ridiculously wet noise, like a cartoon. Bruce pulls the knife out of Gordon and slams it in again, then a third time. Gordon feels the Joker wrench the gun out of his hand, but he’s too busy trying to struggle away. There is blood pouring down his chest.

“Bruce—” he chokes, his hands up to protect himself. The knife slices into his palm and he cries out. “You’re a _murderer_ —Who’s going to punish _you_?”

Bruce rears back to stab him again and then stops. He stays there, his hand raised over Gordon, an expression flicking over his face. Gordon stares up at him, the strength draining out of him.

Bruce suddenly jerks his hand down again, but the knife doesn’t bury itself in Gordon. It slams into Bruce’s own gut. The Joker lurches forward towards them, his face a mask of surprise.

“If it weren’t for you, Gotham would be a better place.” Bruce’s voice is so strangled that Gordon can’t tell if it’s Batman’s voice or not.

“Bruce?” the Joker says, sounding almost tentative. Bruce raises his head to look at the Joker. “Is that… you?”

“I’m here,” Batman says, and it really is Batman’s voice this time. Gordon is slipping, but he can definitely tell that. “I won. It’s me. I won.”

The Joker raises the gun and Batman bats it away. He staggers to his feet, one hand clutching the bloody wound in his stomach, the other holding the Joker’s wrist. The knife clatters to the floor.

“We have to go,” he says hoarsely. “We need to get out of here.”

The Joker looks down at Gordon. Their gazes meet and then the Joker looks away, watching Batman as he picks up Gordon’s fallen radio and calls for an ambulance.

Gordon presses his hands against his bleeding chest. He knows that one of his lungs has collapsed. Maybe he’s dying. Maybe he’ll get through this. He doesn’t know. He hears the door slam behind them.

##

Batman pulls the Joker behind them as they flee to the car the Joker had parked down the street. Blood is running down Batman’s legs but he knows he can survive this. He can survive anything now that he knows that the _other one_ is gone.

They reach the car and the Joker opens it. Batman slides into the passenger seat and then pauses, staring at his hands. They’re covered in blood and shaking.

For one long moment he thinks about how good it had felt to slam that knife into Gordon’s chest. He could still go back and finish the job.

No. Batman looks through the windshield as the Joker starts the car. He’s not going to do that. He’s not Bruce. He’s Batman. He won.


End file.
